


Red

by thedragonagelesbian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gender Roles, Lesbian Character, Makeup, Slurs, Weddings, lesbian reflections on makeup & femininity, projection whomst????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 08:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedragonagelesbian/pseuds/thedragonagelesbian
Summary: At that, the unease returned. The tightness in Bella's throat. The chills crawling down her spine. She thought back to her conversation with Isabela two weeks earlier.“I want you to do my makeup for Varric’s wedding.”“Bella, I’m not even sure if I know who you are if you’re not wearing a palette’s worth of bright red eyeshadow.”Snicker. “Neither do I, but I want us to find out together.”





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> More or less exactly what it says on the tin. Part character study, part projecting my own anxieties around femininity & makeup as a nonbinary lesbian, part explaining my justification for making Bella's eyeshadow way too intense when the real reason for it is because the lighting in the character creator is bullshit. Enjoy!

Belladonna Hawke stood in front of the long rectangular mirror tacked to the wall of the hotel bathroom admiring the tuxedo clinging to her body. She remembered the first time she had tried it on; it was a man’s suit, built for broad shoulders and narrow hips she simply didn’t have. It had been heavily tailored since that first day, when the fabric hung from her limbs and the jacket swallowed her whole. After the second round of modifications proved insufficient, someone commented it might just be easier to buy a woman’s suit. She couldn’t remember who said it now, but she did remember her response.

_ “Absolutely not. I am the best  _ **_man_ ** _ , after all.” _

A year ago, when Varric had first asked her, keeping the title seemed like a nice little “fuck you” to gender roles.

Today, all her little “fuck you”s to gender roles over the years were bearing down on her, making her stomach churn, raising the hairs on the back of her neck as she tugged at the edges of her satin jacket. The fabric was smooth underneath her sweaty palms, providing some sort of small comfort, so she repeated the gesture again. And again.

Despite the discomfort coiling in her gut, there was a part of her that had to admit she looked  _ damn _ good. Red had always been her color, and the deep claret of the jacket and pants suited her well. She could also work her way around a bowtie better than anyone else she knew, Dorian Pavus included. Most days, she was content with slapping a bit of product in her hair and running a comb through it, but she had spent nearly half an hour perfectly coiffing her hair.

There was just one little thing left.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Bella? Are you decent in there, love?”

_ Isabela.  _ “Perfectly decent!”

Bella watched her girlfriend’s form appear in the mirror as she nudged the door open. Bella had seen her dress before— navy blue, adorned with sequins above the waistline and loose ruffles below it, and a low neckline. But Isabela had her done her hair and makeup while Bella was getting dressed, and now she looked nothing short of beautiful. 

Isabela stepped into the bathroom, wielding a tube of mascara and an eyeliner pencil in one hand and her makeup bag in the other. “Kitten’s flight just touched down,” she commented as she slid the mascara into the bag. “It’s  _ such _ bullshit that the Academy won’t give her more time off, but,” next the eyeliner pencil, “she should have enough time to get ready. She just won’t be able to be…” She trailed off as she looked up for the first time, her eyes trailing up and down Bella’s form. “Damn, Bella.”

Bella felt her cheeks warm, but there was no self-esteem boost like having your girlfriend stare at you like she was imagining all your clothes on the floor. “You look incredible too.”

“We’re both incredibly sexy,” Isabela confirmed. She set the makeup bag down on the cabinet sink and, despite just putting in so much effort to put items back in, began rifling through it. “I’m drop-dead gorgeous and you’re breathtakingly handsome. And you’re only going to look sexier when I’m through with you.”

At that, the unease returned. The tightness in her throat. The chills crawling down her spine. She thought back to their conversation two weeks earlier.

_ “I want you to do my makeup for Varric’s wedding.” _

_ “Bella, I’m not even sure if I know who you are if you’re not wearing a palette’s worth of bright red eyeshadow.” _

_ Snicker. “Neither do I, but I want us to find out together.” _

And then she had laughed again. Playing it like a joke. That was always the easiest way to hide the truth. She laughed again now as she reached for the stool underneath the sink. “Oh, I have no doubt. Your makeup is always stunning.” She pulled the stool out and sat down, resting her feet on the beam running between the legs. 

“Comes with years and years of practice,” Isabela replied. She had pulled her thick curls into a fishtail braid, except for two loose ringlets she had left framing her face. “I was… fifteen, I think? Started with a bit of mascara, and suddenly I felt a lot better about myself.”

Bella wrinkled her nose. “No matter how good it makes me feel, it’s so much work. Too much to do it every day.”

“Except when it’s a palette’s worth of bright red eyeshadow, right?” Isabela teased. She turned away from the makeup bag and stepped towards Bella with a tube of something in her hand. “Okay, first things first—” Isabela cupped her face in one hand, trailing her thumb across the bridge of Bella’s nose, a feather-light touch across the delicate, pale scar from the car accident which killed Malcolm Hawke. “Do you want me to cover this up?”

“Leave it,” Bella said. The scar was, oddly enough, one of the few things about her body she had constant confidence in. Every other part of her face could be covered up, feminized, changed, but the scar stayed.

Isabela nodded and planted a kiss on Bella’s cheek, under her left eye where the scar tapered into latticework. Then, she pulled away to uncap the tube of whatever she was holding. Closer inspection of the thick beige liquid as Isabela pulled it out on the tip of its brush said it was liquid concealer. For dotting across the dark spots and acne scars.

“You’re right,” Isabela commented as she dabbed at Bella’s chin, “it is a lot of work- but you could always go bare-face like our dear kitten.”

Bella shook her head. “Not—” The cool liquid suddenly jerked along her jaw, and her cheeks heated. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Isabela said with a soft sigh. She set the concealer down on the counter and reached behind her to pluck a tissue from the box. She ran it under a thin trickle of hot water before swiping it across Bella’s face where the makeup had gone astray. “Just keep your head still, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bella echoed. “But yeah, no, I can’t go bare-face. Not for this.”

“Varric Tethras is a lucky, lucky man,” Isabela murmured as she dropped the dirty tissue in the dust bin. “I don’t think I know anyone else important enough to you to get you to actually wear makeup.”

“I’d actually wear makeup if we got married,” Bella insisted.

“Yes,” Isabela picked up the concealer again, “but unless polyamorous marriages are legalized any time soon,  _ we _ are never going to get married.”

“Well, I would wear makeup if we ever had a wedding.” Isabela finished up with a few touches to her forehead. “We can still have a wedding without getting married, and besides,” she pulled away and went back to the makeup bag, “hasn’t Merrill mentioned we could be married by Clan Sabrae?”

“She has,” Isabela said. She started pulling out powders and palettes and bottles, spreading out an array of makeup across the counter. “Several times. Do you think she’s hinting at something?”

“Probably. It would mean a lot to her, wouldn’t it?”

Isabela nodded before turning back to Bella. “When we get back to Val Royeaux, we should get in touch with Marethari. Not sure how the Dalish feel about marrying humans, but,” she shrugged as she dusted a brush across a thing of light pink blush, “it can’t hurt to ask.”

“No,” Bella agreed with a nod.

Isabela took her chin in one hand, nudging her head to the side so she could brush the blush across her cheeks. “So, if makeup is too much work to do every single day, how did you get started with the red eyeshadow anyway?”

“I haven’t told you that story before?”

Isabela shook her head as she turned Bella’s other cheek towards her. “Nope. I’d remember a story that ended with such an adorable and disastrous fashion choice.”

Bella felt her cheeks darken, and it wasn’t because of the blush her girlfriend was applying to her face. “It isn’t  _ that _ disastrous.” Isabela arched her right eyebrow, the corners of her dark lips curling up. “It isn’t!” Her girlfriend simply shook her head before grabbing- ah, the irony- an eyeshadow palette. Bella’s stomach began to churn once more, and her gaze fell to the floor. “And the story isn’t that great either.”

“I still want to hear it.” Isabela touched her chin again. “Eyes up and closed, darling.”

Bella forced herself to lift her face up, and she closed her eyes, her entire body tensing as she waited for the inevitable weird prodding sensation. “It was freshman year of college, I think. Maybe sophomore.” The brush swept across her eyelid. “No, definitely sophomore. I had just come back from leave because I had  _ finally _ cut my hair after growing it out for, like, four years straight.”

“Should I make a straight joke?” Isabela asked with a soft snicker.

“It’d be very appropriate,” Bella replied, unable to keep a grimace off her face. “I was back on campus for maybe two days before someone yelled ‘dyke’ at me across the main green.”

“Oh.” The brush froze in the middle of a gentle slide, before vanishing from Bella’s face entirely. “Shit, I’m—”

“It’s fine,” Bella said quickly. “Really. I mean, at the time I was devastated, but it wasn’t the last time someone yelled that at me.” After a moment of hesitation, she dared to open her eyes. Isabela stared down at her while she chewed the inside of her cheek and grimaced. “It’s fine,” Bella repeated as she reached out to squeeze her girlfriend’s hand. “You know it doesn’t bother me anymore- you were with me the last time it happened, weren’t you?”

That got Isabela to smile just a little bit. “What, at Herald’s Rest?” Bella nodded. “I still think that man was yelling at Aveline.”

“Either way, she was the one who punched him,” Bella said, her own smile forming at the memory. It still hurt; it would probably always hurt just enough to keep her from shrugging it right off. But watching Aveline knock him out helped the hurt fade faster. “Are you done with the eyeshadow, or—”

“No looking!” Isabela exclaimed as Bella began to turn her head towards the mirror. “No looking until I’m done with  _ everything _ .” Bella huffed but looked away. “And no, I’m not done with the eyeshadow. Eyes shut again.” She closed her eyes once more, and as Isabela continued her work, she said, “So, some asshole shouts a slur at you. How does that end with you wearing too much eyeshadow?”

“Well, I didn’t know I was a lesbian at the time,” Bella replied, “but I did know I never wanted to be called that word like that again. So I figured…” She paused just as Isabela pulled away.

“Keep your eyes shut,” she instructed, “I’m doing eyeliner next.”

Bella nodded. “I just figured a little bit of makeup would do the trick, right? A bit of eyeshadow or lipstick, and at least no straight person would think I need to be told how much of a dyke I am.” She felt the rough, dull tip of the eyeliner against her eyelid, and at that exact moment, she was overcome by a need to rub at her eyes. She clasped her hands in her lap- tight, as if to squash the urge through pain. “Except I had never worn makeup before that point, and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“So you ended up with clown makeup.”

“So I ended up with clown makeup,” Bella echoed, giggling. It was nice to be in a place where she could laugh at that disastrous point in her life. The eyeliner pencil disappeared, and she opened her eyes again. Isabela was smiling too as she reached for a tube of mascara. “I think it might have even been Varric who pointed out the fact I had laid it on a bit strong, and after that, the spite kicked in.”

“So I actually have Varric to blame for your poor makeup choices?” Isabela asked with a snicker. She held the mascara brush up to Bella’s right eye. “Blink.” Another weird sensation as the thin bristles scraped over her eyelashes. “Damn. Now I’m not sure we should be going to his wedding.”

“Oh, come on.” Isabela moved the mascara to her other eye, and Bella blinked several more times. “If he didn’t point it out, someone would have, and the spite would have kicked in eventually.”

“I’m not so sure.” Isabela pulled away and grabbed lip liner and stick next. “It takes either a certain level of asshole-ery or a level of closeness to criticize someone’s makeup, and Varric was probably the only person who fell into that last group at the time.”

“And now you’ve joined him. My own girlfriend.” Bella put one hand across her chest and threw her head back. “You two hurt me so much.”

Isabela tutted softly “Pick a darker shade and wear less of it, and I wouldn’t have to tease you about it so much.”

“Never.”

Giggling, Isabela leaned down to touch her lips to Bella’s. The kiss was playful- and short; Bella was just closing her eyes when Isabela nipped at her lower lip and moved away. “Then I have to keep teasing you.” She paused, the broad grin shrinking slightly. “Unless… I didn’t know the full story before, but you would tell me if it really bothered you, right?”

“I would,” Bella promised as she pressed a quick kiss to Isabela’s lips. “My spite deserves a bit of teasing every now and then.”

“Good.” Isabela let out a soft sigh. “Now,” she held up the lip liner and lipstick, “if you want to do anything with that pretty mouth of yours for the rest of the evening,” her lips curved into a smirk, “ _ especially _ kissing me, you had better do it now.”

Six hours later, Bella stood up from her chair at the front of the large courtyard. She looked out across the packed white tables, surprisingly few in number for the wedding of someone who had repeatedly claimed to know everyone. She could put a name to almost every face in the crowd before her, to almost every pair of eyes which turned towards her as she touched her fork to her full champagne flute.

She set the fork down while her other hand fidgeted with her glass, rubbing her thumb up and down the smooth stem, slick with condensation. When she glanced down, she could see a warped image of herself peering back from within the metal. Isabela’s remarkable handiwork was obvious even in the distorted Fun House image. Soft rosy blush, light bronze eyeshadow, black winged eyeliner. And red lipstick. Not the near-neon scarlet eyesore she usually wore around her eyes, nor the dark purple-tinged maroon of her suit, but something in between. Something beautiful.

“This speech begins with a promise.”

Most days, ‘beautiful’ felt like a word which did not belong to Bella, which could not ever be uttered to describe her. 

“A promise that you have never heard a speech like this before, for two reasons.”

And most days, content in her little “fuck you”s to gender roles, she did not even want it.

“One, this is a toast being given by someone who is two years sober.”

Applause and cheers from across the room, none louder than Merrill, pretty as a painting in her silver ballroom gown and daisies threaded through her hair. Watching the other woman beam at her, with Isabela cheering beside her, Bella knew it didn’t matter. None of it- being beautiful or handsome, being feminine or masculine- really mattered as long as the two of them still loved her at the end of the day. 

So there was nothing stopping her from being both.

“And two, this is a best man’s speech given by someone who is not, in fact, a man.”


End file.
